


Striderchat

by tyde07



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Mental Health Issues, Post-Canon, Solving Problems By Talking To Each Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 18:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7982245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyde07/pseuds/tyde07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short scene, from two perspectives. Dave and Dirk don't adjust to each other's presence as easily as they had both hoped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Striderchat

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't actually posted anything I've written in a long while. Hope I've still got it.
> 
> Warnings: Dirk's internal monologue is pretty self-harm-y.

Dave had tensed up suddenly, shifting away from you almost imperceptibly, but you’ve become rather attuned to him. He glances at you, and you stand, skin burning, and pace quickly out the front door, mumbling an excuse to Roxy’s concerned face.

You let the door shut behind you and grind your teeth, your fingers gently clawing at your upper arm. Fuck. You don’t even know what you did this time.

The door opens. “Hey man,” Dave says after a moment of hesitation. “You trainin’ for a race or something?”

Your arm stings under your fingernails. “No. Just needed some air.” You say, not looking at him, teeth gritted. Fuck! You hear him shift, and you don’t need to look at him to know he’s doing that thing where he forces his shoulders to relax and you feel a sudden impulse to slit your throat. Ha.

“You’re shit at lying.” He mumbles. “Let’s just go back inside before the girls start eavesdropping.”

“I—What did I _do_?” You don’t ask so much as spit the words out. They had been burning in your throat anyways. This time you do look at him, and a look of guilt flashes across his face.

“Fuck. Sorry. Shoulda known you’d noticed.” He has different nervous habits than you do. His hands fidget, he pulls at his sleeve. You wait. “You didn’t do anything. Okay? I shouldn’ta reacted like that.”

You don’t believe him. You don’t say anything, just breathe for a few seconds and wonder if your nails have broken skin yet. You feel your shoulders tremble and hate yourself that much more. Dave shuffles his feet, shoulders rising, brows pinching together.

“You- You laughed, okay? It’s. I shouldn’t—it shouldn’t bother me. But it did, okay? It freaked me out for a sec. It’s not your fault.” The little tiny part of you that isn’t busy with self-loathing registers that Dave might feel just as bad or worse than you do right now. You adjust your grip on your arm—No blood yet.

 “So, what, I shouldn’t?” You say, brows pinched. “Laugh? I thought you preferred when I emoted like a regular human being.” Your voice has more venom in it than you mean, and he practically smells guilty. Fuck!!

“I—Fuck, Dirk, no. That’s not what I’m saying. It just—it—reminded me of something. Sorry. Just forget it, it ain’t important—“

You let out a bark of laughter, bitter. He flinches. You hate yourself. “I just keep wondering. When are you gonna give up on me?”

“What?”

“You’ll have to tell me to fuck off eventually.” You say. You mean it as a statement of fact, but it hurts and your voice sounds strained. “Just wish you’d do it already. Knowing it’s gonna come eventually is much worse.” Your voice shakes. You’ve looked away again, but you can hear him move. Run his hand through his hair.

“Why would I? You’re trying so hard. We both are.” He says, sounding almost angry. Offended?

The silence after that stretches long until Dave sighs.

“Do you wanna go back inside for the movie or what?” He says finally, sounding a little defeated.

“You can.” You say. “I’ll probably go home or something.” And maybe cut yourself into ribbons with a sword. He sighs again, through his nose.

 “I’m sorry, Dirk. I want to make this work. It’s a lot harder than I thought it would be.” You nod. Your grip on your arm loosens.

“Me too.” You say, feeling deflated. “I’m trying to be less of an asshole.”

His mouth quirks into a little smile. It makes your chest ache. “I think you’re doing better than I am.”

“Huh?” You reply eloquently.

“I mean—it’s not really your fault? About what stuff makes my stupid brain freak out like a faulty smoke detector.” There’s that smile again. “Just feels like I’m being hella unfair to you.”

“…Oh.” You say, tapping your fingers. Hmm. “It’s not like you can control that.”

“Yeah but…. I don’t like makin’ you feel like shit all the time.” It’s your turn to flinch. How does he read you so well?

“I make myself feel like shit, I think.” You say after a moment. It feels hallow. “Appreciated, though.”

Dave breathes out through his nose, slowly, shakes himself loose, and stands up straight. He gently punches your shoulder. “No prob.” The he turns back toward the door. “Sure you’re leaving?” He says, hand on the knob.

“I…” You take a deep breath. “Think I can stick around.”

“Nice.” He says, and opens the door.

 

* * *

 

 

You had inhaled to sharply through your nose, wincing like it hurt (which it did, in a way), and Dirk’s shoulder’s had risen, his jaw clenched, and he’d ran the fuck out the front door, saying something about needing some air. You don’t even have a chance to call after him.

“What was that about?” Roxy says, concerned, and pauses the movie.

“Dunno. I’ll go ask him.” You say, a black feeling settling deep in your chest as you rise and walk to the door. He’s leaning against the wall when you open the door, jaw tight, shoulders stiff, and doing that thing where he grips his arm tightly enough that it must hurt.

“Hey man,” You say hesitantly. “You trainin’ for a race or something?”

“…No.” He says, not turning toward you. “Just needed some air.” It’s almost funny, since he barely seems to be breathing at all. You scratch the back of your neck, forcing yourself to stay relaxed.

“You’re shit at lying.” You tell him. “Let’s just go back inside before the girls start eavesdropping.” He seems to consider the suggestion for a moment, before—

“I—What did I _do_?” He asks, pleads, and turns toward you. You feel like you could barf.

“Fuck.” You say. “Sorry. Shoulda known you’d noticed.” Your hoodie sleeve is tattered. You pluck at it, frowning. “You didn’t do anything. Okay? I shouldn’ta reacted like that.” You can’t look at him, but you hear him inhale through his nose, hold it a moment, and release. You feel his gaze and want to shrink away.

“You- You laughed, okay?” You finally say. Word vomit is almost as bad as regular vomit. “It’s. I shouldn’t—it shouldn’t bother me. But it did, okay? It freaked me out for a sec. It’s not your fault.” Your voice sounds high and desperate in your own ears.

“So, what,” He says soft and even. “I shouldn’t laugh?” You glance at him, chewing the inside of your cheek. He looks frustrated, his brows together and his mouth a frown. “I thought you preferred when I emoted like a regular human being.” His voice bites and the dark mass in your core contracts painfully around your heart.

“I—Fuck, Dirk, no. That’s not what I’m saying.” You clench you fists at your sides. “It just—it—reminded me of something. Sorry. Just forget it, it ain’t important—“

He interrupts you with a sharp, bitter laugh. You flinch. You hate yourself. “I just keep wondering,” he says, voice casual but body tense. “When are you gonna give up on me?”

“…What?”

“You’ll have to tell me to fuck off eventually.” He’s not able to keep his detached tone and frowns at the tremble in his own voice. “Just wish you’d do it already. Knowing it’s gonna come eventually is much worse.”

You run your hand through your hair. “Why would I? You’re trying so hard. We both are.” You frown at your shoes. Dirk doesn’t reply.

“Do you wanna go back inside for the movie or what?” You ask finally, scuffing your shoe against the porch.

“You can.” He says. “I’ll probably go home or something.” You breath out through your nose and chew at your lip.

“I’m sorry, Dirk.” You say quietly, your throat tight. “I want to make this work. It’s a lot harder than I thought it would be.” He nods in your peripheral.

“Me too.” He says, loosening visibly. “I’m trying to be less of an asshole.”

“Heh, I think you’re doing better than I am.”

“…Huh?”

“I mean—it’s not really your fault?” You tug at the hem of your jacket, smiling sadly. “About what stuff makes my stupid brain freak out like a faulty smoke detector.” You look up at him. “Just feels like I’m being hella unfair to you.”

He stares at you for a moment, then grunts in wonder. “It’s not like you can control that.”

“Yeah, but,” You roll your shoulders. “I don’t really like making you feel like shit all the time.” His shoulders twitch, his eyebrows rise. You guess you surprised him.

“I think I make myself feel like shit.” He says, almost careful. “Appreciated, though.”

“Hmm.” You breathe deep, and stand up straight. “No problem.” You reply, knocking his shoulder with your knuckles. “You sure you’re leaving?” You ask him as you open the door.

“I… Think I can stick around.” He says, the edges of his mouth pulling up.

“Nice,” you say as you enter together.


End file.
